


spotlights (does it matter?)

by mistionii



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, M/M, They are dancers, also a very controlling bsf, badboyhalo is briefly mentioned as the receptionist, but!, dream is the boss of the company, dw there's no mention of him dying, george is the admin tm, karl n sap do contemporary, kinda it's hinted that he will but in the fic he doesn't die yet, not at all beta read, sapnap is a little awkward sometimes but it's excused because cancer, twist sap has fucking terminal cancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28660737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistionii/pseuds/mistionii
Summary: “Not a downside for girls jumping at you every opportunity; do you simply realise how much they can do for you if you just asked? Oh, can you get that from the office for me? Yeah! Hey, haha, I forgot my water bottle, could you please retrieve it from my desk? Of course, anything for you, Karl!” Karl pretends to swoon.“Pretty privilege,” Sapnap says. His throat is dry for no reason whatsoever.“Mhm,” Karl says, muffled, pretty lips pushed against porcelain.Does it matter, really? In a dance with death, does anything matter?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap
Comments: 16
Kudos: 158





	spotlights (does it matter?)

**Author's Note:**

> heyo  
> i've been a little bit uninspired by the ongoing karlnap canon universe au i've been writing, so i've derailed a little to write this one in three days, so sorry if you're expecting very regular uploads from that one; school sucks :)
> 
> anyway i'm a sucker for any sort of au that's different than the actual world, so here it is  
> i did not beta read this at all, very sorry for grammar/structure of the fic, i'm not too pleased with the pacing
> 
> lyrics on the fic are from _Since I Saw Vienna_ by Wilbur Soot
> 
> -tion

_I'm not a man of substance, and so I'll pretend_

_To be a wanderer, wondering_

He’s supposed to lend a hand to some newbie.

He rolls his eyes slightly, though he sweeps a hand under his white jacket, swings a small duffle bag over a shoulder. The studio should be empty, from the schedule he’d briefly glanced over complied by Dream himself. The newbie’s not due to arrive at the spot for another hour, at least. It’s been a while since he’d last had the studio for himself.

When he slips inside the area, the receptionist (fuck, what’s his name?) bids him a cheery hello behind a steaming cup of coffee. He flashes a small smile, a quick little wave, which the man returns. His eyes briefly brush past the plague that reads ‘Bad Halo’ (oh yeah). He grasps the metal handle of the door, and he presses his body weight against it, swings it open.

The studio is dark, quiet, devoid of the glaring spotlights hanging overhead. The floor is cool under his tingling bare feet. He strides over, flicks just a switch, and warm yellow light floods the studio moodily.

The duffle bag is plopped unceremoniously next to the grand piano, and he draws out foot tongs, pulling them on, snug against the curve of his feet.

He blinks slowly, then makes his way to the center of the studio.

The ceiling-to-floor mirrors reflect his slight figure. It’s overwhelming, really, when it’s just him and no one else, when he can dance unbridled. He stares some more, just looking over his body, the frail curves of his hips under tights, the collarbone that’s hidden under a plain black turtleneck. The white jacket’s shrugged off and knotted tight around his waist. His wrists look weaker than they were. He hates it.

He drops to the ground, pulling at his legs, stretching his hamstrings out. It’s a stable, normal tempo to his warm-up sequence, point-flex-point, flex-point-flex. Comforting. He shuts his eyes to it.

The door smashes open with a brusque bang, and his eyes fly open, the semblance of normal thrown again right out the window.

Sapnap looks up. Messy brown hair is swept hastily from his eyes, and the man that dons a purple-blue colour block hoodie grins nervously and sheepishly.

“Sorry I’m late, the subway had some issues or something, couldn’t get off in the middle of two train stops,” the man pants, running his hand through his locks, and his curls follow the spaces between his fingers before flopping right back to place. His eyes are the lightest shade of hazel. Sapnap’s gaze lingers on the browns, but he blinks and comes back to earth when the man huffs a small distracting laugh to snap him out of his reverie.

“Sorry,” Sapnap murmurs, blinking softly, bringing his sight back to his own legs. “Come in. You’re the newbie, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” breathless, the man bounds over, throws his backpack where it lands square beside his own, “Karl Jacobs.”

Sapnap breaths a laugh. “Basic. I’m Sapnap. I think you know that already.”

“Hey!” Friendly banter, the man Karl lifts his arms to pull off his hoodie, and Sapnap unconsciously shifts his gaze so that Karl gets his privacy respected. He thinks a swath of skin under Karl’s shirt shows when the hoodie is tugged off.

“Should we start?” Karl asks, joining him at the center of the dance floor, standing next to his own sat figure.

“After you’ve stretched. Don’t want injured muscles or ankles.” Karl gives a soft _ooh yeah_ before he slides down in a half-split.

They stretch in a slightly awkward silence, but every once in a while Karl shifts and brushes his hand against his waist. He swears his heart doesn’t drop with the sensation.

Sap stands up when they’ve warmed up for five, sticks a hand down for Karl to pull himself up. Karl takes it. Sapnap’s hand is small in Karl’s. Warm, like a furnace.

“Wanna show me your dance?” Sapnap asks gently, and Karl nods an eager yes.

Karl dances with a hot, burning passion. Where Sapnap leaps with passion woven seamlessly into strands graceful and arching, Karl balls it up and plays with it, balances it on his fingertips, almost dropping it but always saving it from hitting the floor. It’s simple, untamed _passion_ in its purest form. His feet spring with strength, his knees locking when he does a clean scissor leap in midair, his arms curved with the slightest arc when he rolls on his back and transitions flawlessly into a fish roll. Sapnap’s captivated by the very way he moves, the clean quick runs, a single-handed cartwheel into a handstand midair, slides across the floor, toes flat to the ground. His contemporary dance is effortless but powerful. His gaze hooks on the bright bright smile on Karl’s face and dawdles there.

The arc of his neck when he pushes up on pointed feet is graceful and beautiful, and Sapnap thinks he could watch him forever. (Not forever. The throbbing at his temple mocks him and his faltering heart.)

When Karl finishes, it’s all he can do to not smile brightly.

“That’s really good, Karl!” Sapnap tells him earnestly.

“There’s just a few spots you should take note of, it’s very minor but they’ll notice it and it’s gonna affect the entire performance.”

He tells him what he has to improve on, rights the angle of his leg when he sweeps it from three o’clock to nine o’clock. Sometimes he draws near and clasps Karl’s wrists loosely so that he gets the feel of the right action. He’d be lying if he said the proximity didn’t shake him.

When the lesson of sorts is over, both are panting from the strain. Sapnap doubles over, hooking his fingers under to get the foot tongs out. Karl smiles brightly at him, a show-stopping one.

“Thanks for coming!”

“Karl, I work here, if I didn’t come, I wouldn’t get my monthly pay from the boss,” Sapnap scoffs wearily, “He likes laughing at me. I think it’s a hobby of his. Excluding naming himself after something you see in your sleep.”

“I wager it’d be very funny to laugh at you, too.” Karl feigns a logical teasing tone, and bursts into high-pitched laughter when Sapnap sputters outrageously.

“Oh come on, it was a joke!” Karl laughs when Sapnap rolls his eyes and ignores Karl in favour of his bruised ego. “Sapnap!”

“Make it up with me with like, tea, or something.” Sap whines. “I am so extremely hurt by your words, Jacobs.”

“Sure thing, mister Sapnap.” Karl readily agrees. It’s a mental celebration for him.

“Good. Tomorrow?”

“You got it.”

“I always got it.”

\--

_The roads are my home, horizon's my target_

_If I keep on moving, never lose sight of it_

____

When he stirs awake, his face feels dry. Sunlight pours itself over through his window and on his face, and his eyes flutter slowly open. He keens lightly as he brings the back of his hand on his face. As the insides of his eyelids cool, he thinks he should get up and go to the café.

He pushes himself up with a palm firmly pressed to the messed-up covers, and he tries not to mind the dark strands of hair scattered on the pillowcase. He sweeps up the hair, drops it into a dustbin perched near the bed. The pills mock him from their little container next to the stagnant cup of water. He cups them and throws them into his mouth, sweeping the cup of water towards him so that he’s able to chug water to take the pills down his throat.

He huffs a resigned sigh, and swings his legs down the bed. His bare feet touch the cold floorboards, sending a small shiver. He paws tiredly at his eyes before he stands, taking the empty cup with him.

+743 7455 8993

_9:42am_

It’s Karl !

Mornin’, haha

Hope you had a good sleep :)

I’m like already there btw !

You can sleep how long you like btw it’s ok haha

_10:03am_

FUCK

im so sorry please forgive me, rlly tired these days

It’s fine !!

no it isnt fuck

I’ve already ordered something for both of us if you don’t mind

yeah yeah yeah uh fuck im coming i swear

:D !!

\--

_The roads are my home, horizon's my target_

_If I keep on moving, never lose sight of it_

\--

Sapnap rushes into the café at half past ten. The bell that hangs on the handle of the glass door gives a cheery chime as he bulldozers right through, speed walks to where Karl is sat, peaceful and sipping at a small white cup.

“Oh hey!” Karl greets him, and he pants heavily, having run all the way.

“This time I’m the one who’s late, Jacobs, kinda ironic,” Sapnap grins back teasingly, back of his hand glancing Karl’s entirely on accident.

“Guess you have to treat me to morning tea the next time around,” Karl smirks slightly behind the cup of tea, curved features morphing into a charming arc of his eyebrow. Karl isn’t handsome, not devastatingly drop-dead gorgeous, but he’s attractive. He’s the type people might double back for a second glance, but carry on their day like normal.

There’s something about him that sets his pulse rate a-flutter. He denies it, pushes it forcefully into the corner of his head like most things he didn’t wish to face.

Hiding again. Could be worse. He just really really doesn’t need another thing to worry about, considering his condition. Or something. He’s never been very literate.

Sapnap sighs, weaving his dark locks into the mold of his fingers. When he pulls his hand back, stray strands of hair stick to it.

He discards of them discreetly as Karl hums on his earl grey coffee.

He winds a steady hand around the paper cup, and closes his eyes to its warmth. Bringing it up, he presses the edge slowly on his lips, tilts the cup so that just a bit trickles, lukewarm and perfect, tingles the tips of his toes.

Karl coughs weirdly beside him, which startles him enough for his eyes to fly open, searching Karl’s own slightly perturbed eyes. Red tinges Karl’s cheeks. He wagers that it’s the weather’s fault. You think today’s a hot day and then cold wind whips suddenly and unrelenting in your face.

“Yeah?” Sapnap blinks, expecting Karl to say something.

“Uh- um, nothing, I-“ Karl visibly struggles to swallow. “Uh- how old are you?”

Sapnap shrugs. “Like, nineteen. Turned it in March."

“You’re nineteen?”

Sap hums in agreement.

“You?”

“Twenty-two, I’m honking old.” Karl grumbles, which Sap laughs joyously at.

“George’s older.”

“He is?” Karl’s voice goes even higher, unbelieving. George Found, task manager, behind-the-scenes organizer, the backbone of the whole company?

Sap chuckles and grins widely at his gobsmacked face. “He’s twenty-four. Fuckin’ old ass grandpa, am I right?”

Karl gapes. “He looks, like, _super_ honking young.”

Sap scoffs. “Baby-faced. That’s all he’s good for.”

“I wish I had his youthful demeanour.” Karl mumbles sagely. Sap rolls his eyes.

“You wouldn’t. you won’t believe the sheer number of girls that go up and drape themselves all over him,” Sapnap says. “George secretly likes it.”

“I’d like it too,” Karl murmurs wittingly, but Sapnap feels his heart drop to his feet.

He likes girls. Of _course_ he likes girls.

He doesn’t know why he’d thought otherwise.

_Treating my memory of you like a fire, let it_

_Burn out, don't fight it, and try to move on_

“Shut up,” he quietly tells himself. Karl perks up at that.

“Not a downside for girls jumping at you every opportunity; do you simply realise how much they can do for you if you just asked? _Oh, can you get that from the office for me? Yeah! Hey, haha, I forgot my water bottle, could you please retrieve it from my desk? Of course, anything for you, Karl!”_ Karl pretends to swoon.

“Pretty privilege,” Sapnap says. His throat is dry for no reason whatsoever.

“Mhm,” Karl says, muffled, pretty lips pushed against porcelain.

Sapnap looks down and finishes the whole cup. He doesn’t say anything else. Not the raging fire in his depths, nor the headache that tugs incessantly at his temple.

\--

_It's been sixty weeks since I saw Vienna_

_A bandage and a wide smile slapped across my face_

\--

“Sapnap.” George says, clipped.

He sighs. He tosses himself into George’s reclining office chair. He rocks idly on its wheels.

“Yeah,” a dry response, meant for nothing but to stall.

“Are you happy?” is the question George Found asks him, and he finds it hilarious.

“No.”

George groans, rubbing at the curves between his nose and the corners of his eyes. “Why? Wait, no. How are you going to try to get it before…?”

“I’m not going to, Georgie.” Sapnap frowns at him, swinging to grab at a stray ballpoint black pen that’s tossed pointlessly between his fingers. “It’s that simple.”

George exhales, clearly annoyed and concerned.

“No, it isn’t, Sapnap. You aren’t leaving before you’ve lived.”

“I am living, Georgie. Living as a dancer.” He gives George a half-smile, waggling the pen between his thumb and forefinger.

“You know that isn’t what I’m talking about.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

George stalks his way from where he stood right over to the front of his desk, and he slams the desk. Sapnap doesn’t look up at him.

“You love dancing, but there’s stuff there. It’s not, well, fucking _enough_ for you, idiot, and I intend for it to not remain this way until you leave.” George’s voice is higher, no-nonsense. He thinks that’s why Dream hired him as the administrator. Street-smart, quick worker, sharp, analyzing. Dream has good eyes for this stuff.

“You can’t make me do anything, Georgie.” Sap brings his gaze up to meet grey with browns, one lighter than the other, and he sees disdain and fear in his eyes.

“I bloody well can, Sapnap, and you know it.” George growls, slams his hand again.

He blows out his cheeks.

“Look, George, you don’t have to worry about me. I'm okay, and I’ll be fine, okay? Don’t worry.”

“How am I not supposed to worry when you look like this?” George grips his wrist, and his entire palm is able to circle the circumference of his wrist.

He drops his gaze. “’M sorry, Georgie.”

George sighs, out of frustration and worry. “It’s okay. It’s not like you or I control it.”

There it is; laid bare, out in the open, yanked from the closet he’d thrown the fact in at the corner of his mind. It looms, and the prospect is heavy, weighing down his shoulders and his head.

He’s going to _die_. He’s going to die slowly to fucking terminal cancer. Life shouldn’t be this unfair, like it swooped down and decided, ‘well, just for fun, I’ll fuck up this young man’s living potential!’ and ran with it.

He’s barely nineteen, cruising on the highs of his life, his dream job, friends who care, family who check in, and he’s fucking _cursed_ with this fucking _tumor_ that grew and grew until the headaches were too much to ignore and the doctors told him it was irreversible.

(And he’d just- _just_ met the man of his dreams, who’s very much straighter than a ruler, and he knows heterophobes don’t quite exist, but he’s inclined to identify as one.)

Fuck cancer, fuck himself, fuck everyone, fuck Karl and his stupid _laugh_ and his stupid _gentle hands_ and his kind eyes and his muscled legs and _everything_ that’s too much for his rapidly narrowing world.

“Fuck,” he whispers, out loud. George hears it.

“Fuck’s right.” George tells him back. He doesn’t need the confirmation.

\--

_I'll pick up my hiking boots when I am ready_

_And I'll put down my roots when I'm dead_

\--

“You’re distracted,” Karl says.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Yes."

Sapnap sighs. The beanie he’s thrown on his head to distract him feels tight.

“Maybe."

“Mind me asking why?” Karl drops his leg from its hundred eighty position over his head, and skitters over to where Sap sits, a leg dropped daintily over the other, lost in thought.

“A little.”

“Damn. Guess I’m just a student to you, then.” Karl pouts playfully. His hand slips through the gap between his waist and the chair, and it splays, gentle, innocent. He tries not to let it affect him.

_Not like you want to hear my hysterical rambling, anyway._

“It’s really unimportant, anyway.” He plays it off.

“Suuure. Uh huh. You’re twisting your fingers together.” He looks and he realises he actually is. His hands drop from each other.

“Habit.”

“Clearly not.”

Sapnap exhales quietly. “Really.”

“Uh-huh, yes, of course,” Karl drawls, skepticism drawn on his fine features and his high voice.

“Can’t hide anything from you now, Karl Jacobs, you know me too well,” Sap frowns, but it’s a lively one. He’s enjoyed this past month with him.

“What can I say, I'm just _this_ talented at reading body language- they should recruit me for their police investigations,” Karl pretends to look wildly around. “You hear that? FBI agent in the walls?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I am! Thanks for noticing.”

When Sap clears his voice awkwardly, means for himself to stand up and for Karl to move accordingly out of the way, Karl clicks his tongue.

“No, no, you haven’t explained yourself yet, what’s bothering you?”

“Uh.” Sapnap tries to push Karl away, where their nearness has clearly increased when he shifts forward to stand and when Karl leans forward to trap him.

“You’re not leaving the seat until you tell me.”

Sap scoffs, just the tiniest flustered, trying not to give it up. “You act like you’re stronger than me.”

“I am stronger than you.” Karl affirms. He can’t contradict it. He turns to the side to escape Karl’s jail, but his other hand flings out to lie flat on the mirror, and he’s utterly trapped.

“Let me out, Karl,” he pouts, prodding harshly at said man’s bicep, and all Karl does is to laugh at him.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Karl giggles. “Tell me now?”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“No—”

“Yes.”

“No…”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” Sap rolls his eyes at the dancer who never acts his age. Karl cheers.

“You ever wonder what’s it like after death?”

The other’s eyebrows dip into a small furrow. “Whatever’s brought this philosophical stuff up into your headspace?”

He shrugs. “Just- you know- thinking. A lot."

It’s a half-truth. He’s not lying or anything.

“I don’t know,” Karl says, and his hazel eyes latch onto his grey own. “No one knows.”

“What do you think, though? What do you think happens? Is there life after death? Is death the final thing that happens to your soul, your personality? Is there just nothing after death?”

Karl blinks, slowly, and they’re so close Karl could push forward and place his lips on his.

“I don’t know.” It’s raw, it’s honest, and he gazes earnestly down at him, hand on his waist that should be illegal.

“Will anyone miss me when I’m gone?”

“I will, Sap,” Karl says; hazel peers solemn and pretty at him. “I will.”

“I know.” A smile, one that he knows is unbearably the tiniest bit bittersweet, and Karl misses the intent behind it, smiles brightly back.

“Any reason behind this whole existential thing you’re having right now?"

Sap thinks.

“No.”

“Okay.” Karl blinks at him, and Sap’s too tired to tell if there’s anything behind his simple gaze.

His beanie is littered with fragile strands of hair when he removes it. He chucks it into his bag without a second glance.

\--

_The distance is futile_

_Come on, don't be hasty_

\--

Karl brings him to his house, three months later. He feels weak, weaker than he’s ever been, courtesy of the fucking meds and the fucking tumor and whatever.

“Cheers.” Karl lifts the wine glass, and the red wine that swirls gently with motion sloshes quietly. Sap lifts his own and both collide inaudibly with a soft clink.

Fuck his health. He tosses his head and downs the whole thing, seated on the edge of Karl’s bed. Warm light encompasses them, a lukewarm lullaby, and Karl’s covers are soft under his body. Karl himself grins, light and beautiful, beside him. His house is an apartment in a series of high-rise buildings. Floor-to-ceiling windows cover the side of his bedroom that overlooks traffic below, and a largely unblocked view of the sky.

It’s raining, and rain pitter-patters on the windows, dims the city and shrouds it in a dark mist.

“Congrats on winning your first international competition, Karl,” Sapnap quirks his lips up, “quite a feat.”

“Thanks.” The older cocks his wrist so that the glass spills just a mouthful of wine down his throat.

“Not that I didn’t expect it,” Sap continues, “you’re good. Really good.”

“Uh-huh?” Karl laughs, “Continue. More. I want to hear all your praises.”

 _Oh come on. If that didn’t sound wrong entirely_. Sap bites the inside of his lip. “Your ego is almost as big as Dream’s now, and that’s saying something, Jacobs.”

“That’s not praise, Sappy,” Karl pouts a little, turning so that he lies, back down chest up, on his bed, pushing his free hand into his covers. The wine glass trembles in his loose grip.

“You got your praise,” he tells him, which Karl hums disagreeingly at. “Don’t make me take back the first one.”

“Come on, Sappy.” Karl whines, his hand shooting out to grab him by the wrist. His pulse trips and falls over under his touch.

The empty wine glass tips and falls from his hands. “You’re lucky it didn’t have wine in it, Jacobs.” He huffs, and he flops back too. Their heads are in line with each other’s, their heartbeats in tandem with each other.

It’s not love. He’s not going to let it blossom into that.

“Uh huh?” Karl whispers, and they’re facing each other, sprawled on his sheets. Sap blinks heavily when Karl lifts a careful hand and brushes fruitlessly at his bangs, more of a gesture than anything. He feels Karl’s soft puffs of warmth brush his lips.

“Karl,” he chokes. “Karl.”

“Yeah?” breathless. The other trails his palm down, cups his cheek slowly. His thumb comes to rub the smallest circles into the skin under his eye.

“Karl.” He tries. He could cry. It’s so _unfair._

“Karl.”

The thumb stops. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Karl, _please_.” He doesn’t know what he’s pleading for.

Karl drops the wine glass haphazardly on the desk next to his bed, and it’s wild, untamed, much like how Karl executes his moves when he dips down and kisses him. They’re desperately grabbing, pulling each other closer, a mess of lips and hair and waist and upper back as they make out. It feels good, and it’s like he’s ascended to heaven.

Karl’s kisses feel like autumn bunched up and released, sweet, sweet nectar spilling, the bitter tang of leftover wine still in his mouth. Sapnap kisses back with a energy he hasn’t had for a long, long time, and maybe, he thinks, maybe this _is_ what George had told him to look for. His happiness.

They’re red-lipped and gasping when they part. He’s never felt this in love. The very thing he’d never wanted to happen.

Karl giggles from above him. He blinks, and a tear escapes the corner of his left eye.

“Why’re you crying, Sappy?” Karl murmurs, pushing his thumb over the teardrop.

“I- I don’t—” Sapnap blinks more.

“Sapnap?”

“Could I sleep here, today? It’s okay if you don’t want to, obviously, anything you want—” The words push themselves from his lips, and he winces at them.

“Of course you can,” Karl says, dips his head for another kiss quick against his lips. “Of course you can. I’d be glad to.”

Tonight he’s curled against Karl, Karl’s head pushed into his chest, breath evening, slowing. He tilts his head to rest his chin on the other’s brown locks, stark against the white pillowcases. It’s hard to breathe.

But he’ll deal with it in the morning.

\--

_You'll get that feeling deep inside your bones_

_I'll be gone then, for when you must be alone_

\--

Karl Jacobs

_12:34am_

Are you ignoring me? Sap, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did wrong, please reply

Sapnap? Please

I’m so sorry please respond

_12:45am_

What did I do wrong, Sap, tell me, please, come back

Please

Sap? Are you there?

Please

Sapnap?

_3:09am_

Please

i cant do this, karl

What can’t you do??

i cant

Tell me, please

Sap?

cant

Please

karl, i cant

Why?

3:23am

Sapnap, please

Ily

Is that a lot?

i just cant, karl, please stop

I’ll wait

you wont be able to wait for long

I will

As long as you need

Whatever

Just please

you cant and shouldnt

karl Jacobs

I don’t care if I ‘can’t’

I will

you dont know a lot

I want to know you but you don’t let me in, Sap

for good reasons

Trust me

not yet

And when will yet be?

\--

George tells Karl, the bitch, the bastard. Fucker.

Karl confronts him.

“Sap,” he says. “Sap."

He says nothing in return.

“Why-?”

He shakes his head.

Karl drops his head, takes it in his hands. “You could have told me. Should’ve.”

“And what would it have done?” Sap says, and it comes out more forceful and angry than he wants it to be.

Karl whips his head, and the intensity of his gaze pierces him, melts him. “I wouldn’t have fallen.”

He feels the world dip under him. He laughs, cold, high. “Well, I’m sorry, then, Jacobs.”

“I- I mean—” Karl mumbles, loud enough for him to hear. Something wells, nasty, drowning, in his chest.

“Then don’t. Go away. I don’t care.” Sapnap’s voice cracks.

“But I do care.” Karl says.

“I don’t!”

“You do.” He rocks against the dizzying spells. “You know you do.”

He whispers. Quietly, “I’m scared.”

He doesn’t know when he’d fainted, but he’s on his bed, blinking rapidly at his ceiling, feeling like utter shit.

“You’re awake.” Karl passes him a cup of water and the pills. He tries to sit up, but Karl presses a restraining hand to his pecs, keeps him on his pillows. “Don’t move, you’re not well yet.”

Karl drops the pills into his hands, and he pops them into his mouth. The cup of water is transferred to his hands. He drinks it.

“I said things a little… wrong there, sorry.” Karl murmurs, and he leans to place a placating kiss on his forehead, no matter how he squirms away from his touch under him.

“Whatever.” Sapnap mutters.

“Y’know, we don’t have to spend the rest of your time fighting, y’know.” Karl tells him.

“What else should we be doing?” Sap flashes his gaze suddenly to Karl’s, and he stares back, unflinching.

“Making the most out of it. It’s fucking cheezy, that’s what it is, but we have to. For your sake, Sap.”

“I guess.” Sap whispers, too tired to fight back, no longer angry at Karl, because he’s done nothing but to love him.

“What do you want, Sap?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you want us to be? What do you want before you go?"

Sap sucks in a breath, and he’s back at the studio, dancing, tank top hanging below his chest when he goes into a plank, lifts a leg up, pressing it under his body.

“Dance. I haven’t danced truly for really really long.”

“And where do you want it?”

He breathes. “Anywhere. Just anywhere, but the anywhere has to have you.”

Karl stills. He looks over, to his curled-up body, his fidgeting fingers. “Okay.”

\--

“Stage!” Karl yells, and his exhilarated laugh rebounds off the walls of the theatre.

He heaves a breath, and exhales. It’s a stage. He hasn’t been on one since forever.

He’s not entirely sure how Karl got the green card for them to come here. It’s a mystery, much like how Karl is, his bounding energy and loud laugh and everything that somehow, impossibly, aligns with his own personality. It’s a mystery he wants to dissect and solve before he goes.

Karl leaps onto the stage, and he takes Sap’s hand in his, jerks him up the stage.

The seats sprawl out, uncountable, in front of the stage, and on the balcony, red plushed ones that sit unmoving. The aircon whirs somewhere, and the single spotlight that’s switched on glows brightly and showers Karl with light.

“We could do anything.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

He blinks, and the lights are too bright, too scorching, just the Karl’s trailing touch down the backs of his arms, dragging down to the slightest dip of his waist.

“You know what you like doing, Sap,” Karl whispers, right next to his ears. His lips catch the tip of his ear just slightly.

“I do.”

_I think._

“Then dance, pretty boy, dance until you’re tired enough to fall into my arms.”

So he does.

\--

_What’s life after death if he’s not there?_

\--

A bittersweet tang, an unfinished note of a strum of a guitar, clear, vibrating. Does he yearn, or does he not? Does he dance, or does he not?

Does he want, or does he not?

Does he _need_ , or does he not?

It doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t think love exists. No, it doesn’t. But he’s the closest thing to love with Karl, a quirky tango, a pas de duex in tandem with the music that soars and winds around.

Does it matter the time he has left? It’s ticking, but he doesn’t see it, or even hear the rhythmic _tick tok_ of a clock, then why does it matter?

Why does it matter?

Karl laughs beside him, the radio blasting songs so old he definitely won’t know, and the car’s cruising, fast. He’s at the peak of his life. It’s just him and Karl and Karl and him. He grips the wheel gratefully, snug in his hands.

So it doesn’t matter.

Karl kisses him.

Yeah, it doesn’t.


End file.
